An Interesting Philosophical Question
by The Gemini Sage
Summary: A short coda to the first half of S6, exploring whether or not Sam is still Sam without his soul; what, if anything, is left inside him. Gen unless you squint, spoilers for everything up until 6.09.


**Notes:** This was written for a prompt on the LJ community spneveryficmeme: _"I just want a tiny moment where robo-Sam and Dean almost connect...Sam is wounded, Dean is stitching him up, and they each flash back to having done this before. robo-Sam has a teeny little lightbulb moment about what love means to people with souls, and Dean is reminded of why he's doing all this in the first place: for Sam."_

This fic was originally meant to be a coda to 6.08, but it expanded, and then I saw that prompt, and xkdjfghdkjfg I had to, okay? I feel bad because I had actually intended to fill a different one XD; (still might!) but this one was already halfway done in my brain anyway. I'm not exaaaactly sure it's what the nonnie in question was hoping for, but I hope she likes it regardless! It feels really good to stretch my writing muscles again. 3 Without the prompt I might have just let the idea go.

Oh, and-spoilers for everything up to 6.09!

* * *

**An Interesting Philosophical Question **

_"I mean, I was...down there. And then, next minute, it's raining, and I'm lying in that field. Alone."_

Sam doesn't notice it at first. No, the first thing he notices is all the color, the sound, the _feeling_. He's wet and he's cold and he's _alive_.

He's alive.

It's so completely different from the cage that at first he doesn't notice that there's maybe something about him that's different, too.

* * *

It doesn't take him long to catch on.

Sam remembers when Dean came back from Hell; he remembers the nightmares and the drinking and how hard it was for Dean to even get up in the mornings. He remembers how much Dean hurt and how much it cost him to remember his time in the pit. He doesn't want to have nightmares, so he tries to stay awake as long as he can. He's more than a little surprised when he doesn't get tired, however late into the night he stays up researching, praying to Castiel, trying to find _some_ way to get some answers.

It takes three nights for him to get curious. Oddly enough, it doesn't really worry or alarm him too much, this thing that's going on. He just wonders if he _can_ sleep. And yeah, he doesn't really want to have nightmares, but so what if he does? He'll wake up.

He lays down to go to sleep.

He's still awake the next morning when the sun rises.

* * *

He wants to call Dean. He almost does call Dean. Dean would probably want to know, so-yeah, he should call. That'd be the right thing to do.

Except. He really doesn't want to talk to Dean. And even if he does-what's to say Lucifer's not going to yank the wheel out of his hands and just kill Dean on the spot? That would kind of suck. So he just...needs to check, that Lucifer's not still riding shotgun, that there's no one under the hood except him.

He goes through all the tests, but he feels like he sort of knew he'd come out as 100% human. He doesn't feel like he felt with Lucifer in him; _full_, absolutely brimming with rage, hot power searing his veins. He just feels empty. Not quite like himself. Not lonely, not worried, just.

Just...

* * *

Sam read somewhere once that the physical act of smiling or frowning can trick the brain into feeling the emotions. Something about association or whatever.

He tries it; it doesn't work. Even when he's trying to fake it for the Campbells, even when he's trying to interview witnesses and play the sympathy card like he remembers doing so many times. But it just doesn't work, and while the lie is convincing, it's not perfect.

And after awhile-yeah, it's a little frustrating.

He can't feel _anything_.

And that's sort of a horrible feeling in itself.

* * *

The first times he smiles without thinking about it or trying to fake it is when no one's looking. Typical.

Dean's got his arms around him, hugging him tight enough to almost hurt. The smile lasts for two glorious seconds and then it comes crashing down, a split second of grief for losing this before it's all gone again and he can't remember why he was smiling and why he's not anymore.

He never really does get the hang of it, faking emotion. That was the only time he ever got close.

* * *

Things are different with Dean around.

It should feel familiar to him, sitting shotgun in the Impala while Dean listens to _Smoke on the Water_ for the billionth time, but it doesn't really feel like anything except mildly annoying because Sam's a little tired of this song. And he doesn't really get why that bothers him, but it sort of does.

It's not really the change in routine that gets to Sam. He can handle that; going from hunting with Dean to the cage to hunting with his grandfather back to hunting with Dean again is not big deal. Hunting is hunting; it's the only thing he seems capable of doing. It's just _Dean_. It's just...strange.

Like the time Sam's waiting for Dean to go inside and pay for the Impala's gas. He's sitting shotgun again, bored, and he looks around. And his eyes fall on a toy soldier lodged in the ashtray. That toy soldier saved the world once, but now Sam just wonders why the hell Dean hasn't thrown it away by now.

When Dean gets back in the car, though, the memory of their childhood games and the memory of Lucifer using his hands to beat Dean's face to a bloody pulp both come back sharp and crystal clear. They don't _bother_ him, but it takes two and a half loops of Dean's favorite Metallica album before he can stop looking at the damn soldier every chance he gets and concentrate on working the case.

It doesn't happen again. Looking at the soldier feels just like looking at everything else.

_"You just...went. You didn't hesitate. Because you care. And that's who you are." Sam pauses. "Me? I wouldn't even think to try."_

_"Yes, you would."_

_"No, Dean. I'm telling you...it's just better with you around. That's all." _

That is-it feels like nothing at all.

* * *

"It's his soul," Castiel says. "It's gone."

And Sam thinks through a haze of pain:

_Oh.

* * *

_

It's a lot different after that. Dean watches him like he's a ticking time bomb, doesn't trust him as far as he can throw him. It should hurt Sam, but it doesn't. And now he knows why.

There's nothing there to hurt. He _ can't_ hurt-or cry, or _love_, or do any of the things he remembers doing before he took the big swan dive.

_"There's something wrong with me, really wrong with me. I've known it for awhile. Ever since I came back...I am a better hunter than I've ever been. Nothing scares me anymore! Because I can't _feel _it."_

It should bother him. But it doesn't. He doesn't feel one way or the other about it; it's just...another thing. A hunt, more or less.

It's better this way, anyway.

_"I don't know...what's wrong with me. But I think...I need help."_

And it doesn't bother him. Really. Not even a little.

* * *

_"So is he even...still Sam?" _

_"Well, you pose an interesting philosophical question."_

_

* * *

_

One night while Dean is sleeping and Sam is lying awake and looking for a case and not really thinking much about anything in particular he kind of wonders what happens to a soul's soulmate if the soul is downstairs stuffed in a box with the devil. He wonders if _soulmate_ means they just work well together or if they're each carrying around a little piece of each other, for keeps. Maybe a little of Dean is still in Sam, or a little of Sam can _feel_ when he's close to Dean because Dean's got the only part of him left that's topside.

He doesn't know, and to be honest, he doesn't care. It's just kind of interesting. A flight of fancy, really; he's not even sure soulmates exist anyway. If-_when_-he feels, it's probably just...

He gives up trying to explain it away and circles an article about UFO sightings and odd vanishings. That one. They could try that one next.

* * *

_"Hey Dean, I'm _ curious_. What do you really feel about your brother?"_

_"As of yesterday, I wanted to kill him in his sleep. I thought he was a monster."

* * *

_

They're headed to Elwood, Indiana to look into the abductions and they have to stop for the night because Dean's falling asleep and he won't let sam drive. They decide to squat in the only house they can see, about fifty feet off the main road and nearly grown over with weeds. There's no power, no heat, but it's preferable to sleeping in the car.

The house is haunted, of course.

_"So, I was thinkin'. You were right."_

_"About?"_

_"I'm not your brother. I'm not...Sam."_

It's an easy salt-and-burn; the guy hung himself in the attic, so the body's right there. It's just a matter of one of them with the shotgun and the other with the matches. The only problem is the whole house goes up like dry kindle, and by the time they get back out to the Impala they're both a little singed and Sam has a nice deep cut on his side from a rusted nail he passed on the way out.

_"I've done a lot worse than you know. I've...killed innocent people, in the line of duty. But-I'm pretty sure it's not something the old me coulda done. And maybe I _ should_ feel guilty...but I don't."_

He feels the heat of the fire, the burn of the alcohol he pours in the wound. He feels the shake of his hands as he tries to find the stuff for sewing himself up, and he feels the familiar dizziness that comes with too much blood loss.

"For God's sake, Sam, sit down. I'll do it. You're going to get blood everywhere." Dean opens the back door of the Impala, the one behind the driver's side of the car. Sam sees the toy soldier in the ashtray again, but he doesn't say a word. There's nothing to say, really.

He feels Dean's hands on him, pulling his shirt off, taking away the needle and fishing line, pushing him back against the worn leather of the Impala's seats. A moment later, he feels a prick as Dean starts stitching him up.

Yeah, he feels. He feels a lot. He just...

_"Look. I don't know-if...how I am is better, or worse; it's different. You get the job done, and nothing really hurts. It's not the worst thing. But I've been thinking..." _

Dean's got a few shallow cuts himself. His shoulder's burned. It's really not logical at all that he's stitching Sam up before taking care of himself. It's got to be painful. So-

"Thanks," Sam says groggily, because that's what he's supposed to say. He meets Dean's eyes.

_"I was that other Sam for...a long time. And it was-it was kinda harder. But there are also things about it that I _remember_, that I-"_

"Yeah, well," Dean says in return, and looks back down at what he's doing.

It happens again, that split second of knowing, of really _comprehending_. For half of a second he understands that he loves Dean more than anyone, that Dean would do anything for him, from giving him the last bowl of Lucky Charms to going straight to Hell without thinking twice. And that-is _important_, and he tries to keep it, he wants to feel it so much, even if it hurts, so he _tries_-

But then it's gone again, and the only thing he feels is a needle pulling at his skin.

_"Let's just say...that I think I should probably go back to being him."_

**End.**


End file.
